Eating and Drinking—Together

The difference between Noach’s ingestion of alcohol and a chassidic farbrengen.

Losing His Beerings

Good Shabbos! 

In New York, there is a wholesale beer company named Manhattan Beer Distribution. Manhattan Beer dominates the beer market in the state, and the owner of the company is a Jewish man named Simon Bergson. 

Simon Bergson immigrated to the United States with his parents when he was four years old. He always relates how his father came to America with nothing but six dollars in his pocket and big dreams. 

Bergson started his business in the Bronx in 1978 with one truck, using it to deliver beer to restaurants and such. Today, some 40 years later, the company has a fleet of over 350 trucks, one million square feet of warehousing for every imaginable kind of beer imported from all over the world, and close to 1,000 employees. In 2018, Manhattan Beer delivered 46 million cases of beer! 

Now, that’s all fine and good—but there’s just one problem: beer is chometz (leaven), and everyone knows you can’t drink beer on Passover. But what people may not always be aware of is that beer owned by a Jew during the holiday of Passover may not be benefited from after Passover. Thus, unless Mr. Bergson would sell his entire company to a non-Jew for the entire duration of Passover—Jews could not enjoy his beer after Passover. 

Well, before Passover of 2018, several major kosher certification agencies approached Mr. Bergson about the issue, and he refused. Regrettably, the agencies thus came to the conclusion that, having no other option, they would need to publicize to the entire New York Jewish community that for six to eight weeks following Passover, it would be against Jewish law to buy beer in New York City because the major of beer distribution in the city was by Manhattan Beer. 

So one week before Passover, Rabbi Kalman Weinfeld, who works for the Organized Kashrus Laboratories, or the OK, felt he had to do something about the matter. He decided that he had to meet with Mr. Bergson. He knew that Mr. Bergson had been born in Europe after the war— and so he whipped up some classic kokosh cake, a popular Hungarian Jewish pastry that actually stood a good chance of making Mr. Bergson very happy. 

Rabbi Weinfeld showed up at the building where Mr. Bergson lived and told the guard in the lobby that he was delivering a gift to Simon Bergson. The security guy called the family upstairs, who promptly told him to tell the guy to leave the gift in the lobby. But Rabbi Weinfeld decided to wait and see if perhaps he’d still succeed in meeting him. And so, about a half-hour later, out of the elevator came Simon Bergson himself, along with his wife and several guests. Rabbi Weinfeld approached him with a hearty “Shalom Aleichem!” and said that he hadn’t come to ask him for anything. Rather, he had come to give him a gift—and with that, he handed him the kokosh cake. 

Mrs. Bergson got very excited over it, at which point Rabbi Weinfeld added that since Mr. Bergson does so many good things, he wanted to give him the merit of another good deed—and then suggested that he sell his business to a non-Jew for Passover. Mr. Bergson immediately said that he had already been approached about the issue but that he didn’t understand why he needed to sell the business. What’s more, he added, he was a law-abiding citizen—and by law, you can’t sell a beer distributorship to anyone who doesn’t have a liquor license in the State of New York. And above that all, selling his business to a non-Jew who did have such a license would mean that he’d be selling his business to his competition—and that was something he didn’t want. 

Well, Simon Bergson told the good rabbi that he was heading out to a restaurant now but that tomorrow, he should call the office and he’d see what he could do about the matter. Rabbi Weinfeld replied that the issue was very urgent and that he’d wait in the lobby until he got back. Simon Bergson laughed and left. 

In the meantime, Rabbi Weinfeld used the time to call several rabbis with expertise in selling chometz. He told them what Mr. Bergson’s objections were, and they gave him guidance. Close to two hours later, Simon Bergson returned and discovered that Rabbi Weinfeld was in fact still waiting for him in the lobby. 

Now, Rabbi Weinfeld suggested that Mr. Bergson halachically appoint him as an agent to sell his entire business and its chometz to a non-Jew in his name—and that the buyer be none other than one of Mr. Bergson’s (non-Jewish) top executives. This way, the entire business would halachically belong to the executive for the duration of Passover, with the executive being the one who’d be running the company during the holiday’s eight days. Mr. Bergson agreed and appointed Rabbi Bergson as his halachic agent; they also agreed to meet in his Bronx office the next day at 1:00 in the afternoon to complete the contract. 

Well, the very next day, Rabbi Kalman Weinfeld arrived with a sale contract, halachically transferring the ownership of Manhattan Beer Distributors to Ed McBrien, Manhattan Beer’s Chief Operations Managers. The contract included the precise addresses and warehouses belonging to Manhattan Beer, as well as the entire worth of the business. Per Jewish custom, the buyer—Mr. McBrien—then paid a small advance fee. 

After the sale, Rabbi Weinfeld suggested that Simon Bergson put on tefillin—and he was only too happy to do so, saying that it had been 57 years since his Bar Mitzvah, which was the last time he’d put on tefillin. 

Before they left, Mr. Bergson added that one of the major kosher supermarkets in the Flatbush neighborhood had cancelled a big order a few days ago which was supposed to be delivered right after Pesach—but that now, as soon as they had heard that Manhattan Beer Distributors had sold their chometz, they renewed their order. That showed Mr. Bergson up close and personal just how urgent the matter was.

Several days after Pesach, Rabbi Weinfeld came back to visit him. Mr. Bergson told him how, during the first days of the holiday when he had gone on a family vacation and even during the last days when he had in fact come back to the office, anyone who had asked him a business question had gotten referred to Mr. McBrien, to whom the chometz had been sold—telling them all that for the moment, he’s the boss. (Or Yisroel, kovetz 77.) 

The Power of Legimah

When I first heard this story, I couldn’t help but think: what would’ve been so terrible if Jews had to go without beer for a month and a half? A little less alcohol wouldn’t hurt anyone!

And that, of course, brings us to this week’s Parshah.

In Parshas Noach, we find the very first mention of an alcoholic beverage in the Torah—wine. The Torah tells us (Genesis 9:20–21): “Noach began to be a man of the soil, and he planted a vineyard. He drank of the wine and became drunk…” And as we know, nothing good came of that. So maybe, if we ever get the chance to help a few good Jews drink a little less beer, that’s not such a bad thing!

But the Talmud gives us a deeper perspective. 

In Sanhedrin 103b, Rabbi Yochanan says: “Great is legimah (eating and drinking), for it distanced two nations from Israel and drew others near.” 

He goes on to explain that the Torah itself shows us both sides. On one hand, it says (Deuteronomy 23:4–5): “An Ammonite or Moabite shall not enter the assembly of the L-rd… because they did not meet you with bread and water when you came out of Egypt.” Their refusal to offer food and drink to the Jewish people forever distanced them from the people of Israel.

On the other hand, we learn about Yisro, the father-in-law of Moshe Rabbeinu. When his daughters told him that an “Egyptian man” had saved them from the shepherds, he said (Exodus 2:20): “Call him, that he may eat bread.” That simple invitation led to Moshe marrying Tziporah—and to Yisro’s descendants later becoming part of the Sanhedrin. 

The Talmud concludes: “Food distances the near and draws near the distant. The fact that it distances the near is from Ammon and Moav; the fact that it draws near the distant is from Yisro.”

So legimah—a hard word to translate, meaning eating, drinking, or more broadly, sharing sustenance—has incredible social power. It can connect or divide. It’s no coincidence that Moshe found his destiny through a meal, or that even today, when we want to build a relationship in business or politics, we “do lunch.”

That’s also why Chassidim have the beautiful custom of saying L’chaim! whenever they gather—because legimah brings people closer. The Rebbe explains that this idea applies even among Jews who are already united. Even when there’s no conflict or distance to bridge, the very act of sharing food or drink still deepens the bond between them. A gathering should therefore include real legimah—actual eating or drinking—because that physical act itself creates connection and warmth. (Toras Menachem, vol. 29, p. 184)So where did Noach go wrong? Why did his legimah lead to disgrace? Perhaps the answer is simple, my friends: It all happened because he drank alone!